


The Journey Towards

by LadyRoxie



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, almost-relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9284426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRoxie/pseuds/LadyRoxie
Summary: A small moment, a maybe-thing between our lovely two. Occurs sometime in late season 2, or early season 3, perhaps after Murder Under the Mistletoe. I couldn't help wondering if these two might have acknowledged, even obliquely, that they were now on a different track. :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> A small moment, a maybe-thing between our lovely two. Occurs sometime in late season 2, or early season 3, perhaps after Murder Under the Mistletoe. I couldn't help wondering if these two might have acknowledged, even obliquely, that they were now on a different track. :)

_Our deepest fears are like dragons guarding our deepest treasure._  
\- Rainer Maria Rilke

 

As it happened, he hadn't had anything else to do that night. Not that it would have stopped him going to find her if he had, but it might have been more of a decision than it ultimately was.

Dorothy Williams' face as she'd met him at the front door had been uncharacteristically anxious.

“She said she was alright, Inspector,” Dot had said, a crease between her soft brown eyes, “but I know she's not, and just hadn't wanted to say.”

Jack had appeared on the doorstep to Wardlow more or less without thinking. They hadn't even wrapped up a case; he'd just found himself looking forward to the idea of a drink in her parlour, perhaps a game of draughts, and her effervescent company. He was starting to measure time in the days between when he saw her, and felt unsettled if too many passed in a row.

“It's a difficult day, for her,” Dot admitted quietly. “It's the anniversary of when her sister disappeared.”

Jack's stomach had dropped as he processed her words, and he was instantly furious with himself for not remembering. _You were the one with the file, mate! You should have known._

“I asked if there was anything she'd like, or someone she'd like me to call, maybe Doctor MacMillan...” Dorothy's hands worried the placket of her cardigan as she spoke. “Mr. Butler even offered to make her favourite supper. But she just said she was going to the Windsor, and not to wait up. But sir,” she said hastily, seeing Jack's face fall as she mentioned the hotel, “She said she wasn't meeting anyone. She said she just needed to be alone, and I know she'd have gone to the-” The girl stopped herself abruptly before she mentioned one of the less-than-legal late night venues her employer was known for frequenting. “- _elsewhere_ ,” she said pointedly, “if she'd wanted... _dancing_.” A rosy blush appeared on her cheeks.

Jack stood in the hallway, hat in hand, for a moment. “I'm sorry to hear of the anniversary, Miss Williams, but.... You're concerned about Miss Fisher?”

Dot gave a grateful half-smile. “I know she can more than look after herself when it comes to thugs and murderers, Inspector, and she might be very cross with me for saying anything at all...” She took a big breath. “But I'm not sure she should be alone tonight. I mean, normally when she's feeling blue, she gets all dressed up and goes out and....” Dot shot Jack a furtive glance, “And takes her mind off things. But tonight... she wasn't herself.”

The last part had come tumbling out and Dot looked as if she'd been caught spilling state secrets. Jack knew her well enough to know her intentions were noble and likely so were her instincts. 

He frowned slightly and gave a slight nod. “I don't suppose she might have had other plans she might not have chosen to share?” Jack hoped his meaning was clear. 

Dot straightened and met his eyes. “I don't believe so, Inspector. I... I just didn't like the look I saw in her eyes. She looked lonely.” She swallowed. “Do you... I mean, as a friend, of Miss Fisher's... do you think you might check on her?”

Jack pulled his lips into a small smile. “I suppose I can make sure she hasn't changed her mind about wanting company.”

Dot's shoulders lowered a good few inches. “Thank you Inspector. She's very lucky to have you.” She opened the front door, and stood aside to let him pass. 

Jack replaced the fedora on his head, and gave Dot a small nod as he left. “Goodnight, Miss Williams.”

***

She was impossible to miss, even in the golden dim of the Windsor's elegant bar. Her jet hair was set off by glittering silver beading on her gown and the long black fur stole that hung down the back of her tall chair, almost to the floor. 

She was alone, as Miss Williams had said she'd be, but it wasn't until he reached the threshold of the bar that Jack let himself believe it. All the way over, he'd had visions of being forced to make excruciating small talk as he explained to Miss Fisher and her gentleman-of-the-evening why he just happened to show up at the same establishment with no good reason. 

As it was, he wasn't entirely comfortable with how relieved he was to find her on her own. 

He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was in his work suit, no doubt softened by a long day's work, and he hadn't so much as washed his face, much less shaved. He paused in the lobby, outside the warm glow of the bar, patting down his lapels and straightening his tie. (It was a favourite, at least, a deep blue with scrolls of silver, and he had a momentary thrill that he hadn't worn an old one.) 

_This is ridiculous, Robinson. You're here to make sure she's ok, not seduce her._

He swallowed awkwardly. _Bad train of thought. Right: hair?_ One large hand came up to smooth the outline of his pomade, then, squaring his shoulders, he went in. 

It wasn't crowded. Phryne was alone at the mahogany bar, only a few of the intimate tables in the rest of the space occupied by couples or quiet groups of three or four. A man in a coat and tails played softly on a grand piano in the far corner.

Jack nodded to a bartender in a crisp white shirt and black arm bands who was drying glasses at the end of the bar as he approached. 

“What she's having,” he said, his unmistakable rumble making Phryne turn in her seat. There was a beat as she collected herself.

“And what if you don't like what she's having?” she said. 

“Worse luck me,” said Jack, settling into the seat next to hers but keeping his eyes fixed on the napkin the barman had set down for him. 

She stared at him a moment, then swung back away.

“I know why you're here, Jack.”

“The excellent cocktails?” Jack nodded his thanks to the bartender as the man set down his drink.

“Very funny.”

“Then it must be the ambiance.”

“Is that so? And just what about the ambiance of the Hotel Windsor bar draws you to it, Inspector?”

“Well,” Jack said, after taking a long sip of his drink. “It's quiet, which you know I like...” He caught the flicker of a smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Lots of places are quiet, Jack.”

“True, true. But sometimes a man wants a good drink-”

“Or two...” she said, slowly running a middle finger around the fine lip of her glass.

“Or two, repeated Jack, “somewhere quiet, with good music, soft lighting, and....”

“ _And?_ ” Phryne's voice was quiet but pointed. 

“And perhaps some company.”

“There it is,” she said softly.

“I can go, Phryne.”

She was silent, but after a moment she pushed her drink a little closer to his and scowled only slightly.

“I do like the piano,” said Jack, taking a sip of his whiskey as he used his eyebrows to indicate the muted playing from the far corner of the room.

“I have a piano, Jack.”

“Yes, well, I tried that establishment once this evening, and found the hospitality wasn't up to it's usual standards.”

Phryne's mouth opened in mock indignation for a moment before she couldn't help laughing. 

“I suppose I deserved that, though it isn't entirely fair... How was I supposed to know you expected to be attended to in my parlour?”

They realized the implications of her words at the same time, and it sent a ripple of electricity between them. Jack's chin lowered imperceptibly and he gave her a sanctioning smirk.

Phryne flashed him a not-very-apologetic grin. 

“I would have stayed home if I'd known you were coming, Jack.”

“Miss Fisher, you needn't amend your plans because of a whim I might or might not have about a drink at your mantel.” 

She smiled, a genuine one this time, before turning back to her glass.

“Dot spilled the beans, didn't she?”

“She did.”

“I am alright, you know, Jack.”

He nodded. “I know.”

Her head turned to him, and she studied his face, so often lined in concern or held taut with exasperation. Now it was strangely relaxed, almost boyish, in a way she only ever saw when they were alone.

“Then why....” her brow furrowed as she let her question hang.

“I wanted to see you.” Jack shrugged. “I know one difficult anniversary is not going to have you falling apart. And I know Miss Williams hates to see you suffer, but that you can get through a night like this however you feel you need to, and you'll go right back to being the strong and sensational Miss Fisher tomorrow morning. I just thought I'd come and see if you wanted company.”

Phryne looked into his eyes, and saw neither pity nor trepidation. She shook her head slightly, the silver jewelled clip she wore in her hair catching the light and throwing diamonds over the polished surface of the bar. 

“You really will turn my head one day, Jack Robinson,” she said softly.

“One lives in hope.” Jack's voice was dry, and quiet, but as steady as his eyes when she met them.

“Inspector,” she purred, her tone tipping seamlessly into flirtatious out of habit or self-protection, “are you wooing me?”

“I would hope never to attempt anything so pedestrian.” Jack's curled barely-there smile caused a shiver across Phryne's skin.

Her lips spread into a delighted smile. 

“Now,” he said, “It appears we are both out of refreshments. Have I outstayed my welcome, or is it my shout?”

“I may not be great company, Jack.”

“Miss Fisher, I believe, once in a while, we're all allowed that privilege.” He pointed at her empty glass. “What will it be this time?”

Phryne ordered another round of whisky cocktails, and Jack shrugged off his overcoat, hanging it on a hook on the wall. 

“So, Inspector, what's your plan: cheer me up, distract me, or let me cry on your shoulder?”

Jack regarded her seriously, narrowing his eyes. 

“Not sure I've decided yet. Are those my only options?” he said conspiratorially.

“Hmm. Might be one or two I'm missing, but we'll see how the evening progresses, shall we?”

They clinked glasses, and each took a sip.

“What do you usually do, on this day?” Jack settled back in his chair, one hand still on his drink.

Phryne raised her eyebrows as she looked down at her skirt, brushing a ringed hand over the delicate beadwork.

“I don't usually spend it alone.”

“Who do you-” Jack stopped himself mid-sentence. “Ah.” His eyes flickered from her face to his own hands. “Right.”

“Right,” echoed Phryne, smiling gently. “There is normally a questionable amount of drinking, then dancing, then more drinking, and I'm not alone until well into the next morning.”

“Right,” said Jack again, quieter. He paused, turning his glass around the amber liquid. “So why not tonight?”

Phryne gave a tiny shrug, and a ghost of a smile crossed her face.

“Is it because you found Janey? Something's different?”

Phryne tilted her head, her eyes still on her gown.

“It isn't because we found her... exactly...” Jack's chest tightened a little at the word “ _we_ ”. “Though I do think something's different.”

She huffed a breath, and threw back the rest of her whiskey.

“Argh, Jack, I don't know! Ever since....” Her eyes flickered to his quickly before closing for a second.

“Since...” he prompted.

“Ever since that night, at my kitchen table. Before my part-”

“I remember.” Jack's voice was low and warm.

Phryne stared at her lap again, before speaking. “You said I owed it to her, to my sister, to live life to the fullest."

“I did. And I said I hadn't noticed you wasting a moment.” Jack wore the same expression now that he had that night, but tonight, rather than giving her courage and strength, she found it made her uneasy and she looked away.

For minute or two, neither one spoke. 

“What did you do, Jack, when...when you had a difficult anniversary?” Phryne held his eyes for a few moments before he needed to look away.

“Ah. Such as, the anniversary of my marriage?” Jack smirked gently and shook his head. “Phryne...”

“Please, Jack. I wouldn't normally ask. I just...” She stopped. “No, you're right. It's far too personal, and none of my business.” She signalled the barman with a raised finger and a flashed smile that didn't reach her eyes. 

“Two more, please. The same.”

“Very good, Miss.” The barman bowed slightly and cleared their empty glasses.

Phryne smoothed out the wrinkled napkin in front of her. As she opened her mouth to say something, Jack spoke.

“This.”

She looked at him. “Sorry?”

“I do this. More or less. In rather less glamourous surroundings, but I'm not sure that makes much difference.”

Phryne sat back, letting him go on if he wanted. 

“The first year, I got so tight I slept in my hallway.” His eyes flickered to hers a little guiltily. “Never made it to the bed.”

Phryne laughed a little, nodding.

“Can't blame you. And now?” she asked cautiously.

“Now I.... I generally make it to the bed.”

Jack accepted his refreshed drink from the bartender, and drew deeply from the glass. 

“I don't think there's a right way to grieve, Phryne. Just different people, different nights. Different nightmares.”

Jack realized what he had said.

“Not that I'm comparing! Ever. I lost a marriage, not a sister.”

“It's alright, Jack,” Phryne said, her hand coming to rest briefly on his knee. “Pain is pain.”

“Can I tell you why I came here tonight, instead of going to the Green Mill?” Phryne absentmindedly fidgeted with her dress again, her eyes lowered. 

“Of course.”

“Because of you.”

She looked up to see the confusion on his face, his drink forgotten in his hand.

“Me? What...what did I do?”

Her smile was gentle. 

“I don't know, really. Well, besides taking up residence – completely unbidden, by the way – in my head. And besides being the most sensible and honourable and frustratingly noble person I've ever met. And, I think...” She licked her lips. “What you said that night. About not wasting a moment.”

“I'm afraid you've lost me. What do I have to do with...” Jack swept a large hand around vaguely around them.

“Me, Jack! _Me_. You've changed me. At least, I've changed.” Phryne saw the panic in his eyes at that statement and rushed to reassure him. 

“Don't worry, I know you didn't mean to,” she said with a soft smile. “Somehow it happened.”

Phryne shrugged and then stretched, raising her arms up over her head, while Jack tried to look anywhere but at how the glittering fabric clung to her body.

“I have spent so long, _so_ long, Jack, 'living to the hilt' as you put it. And don't get me wrong, I adore it, and I'm not planning on stopping any time soon.”

She paused as he gave her a trademark smirk.

“But there is a difference between riding a fast train, and _being_ one, even a charming one. I've just started to wonder if some of the... _stops_ , have been more distraction than destination.”

“And is there anything wrong with distraction?” Jack asked. “I seems to me you somehow manage to strike a perfect chord between recreation and responsibility. Most of the time,” he added with a quirk of his mouth.

Phryne hummed softly. “Sometimes, perhaps. But when distraction only keeps you from real things, both good _and_ bad, then perhaps it's time to disembark the carriage once in a while.”

“Is the Honourable Miss Fisher thinking of settling down?” mused Jack, teasing firmly in place in his voice.

“God forbid!” laughed Phryne. “Only, maybe she ought to be a little braver sometimes, and look at what's right in front of her, instead of always what's around the next bend in the track.” Phryne's eyes as she spoke came to rest on Jack's and he swallowed before he could speak. When he did, he chose his words carefully.

“And what might she see, if she were brave enough?”

“Well, if she were brave enough, and slow enough, and close enough, she might see she something that looked at first like a distraction, but was really... a possibility.”

“I see.” Jack's voice seemed lower than usual. 

They held each other's gaze. 

“Sounds... serious,” he said, a glint in his eye.

“It is. And a little scary..... after all, how will she know if the other.... _possibility_ , is at the same station?”

“Mmm. Difficult problem. Can't have everyone disembarking on different platforms, can we?”

“Well, that would defeat the purpose,” said Phryne.

“Quite.” Jack swirled his drink and took a sip. “And it may be that his journey is somewhat more pedantic than hers.” 

Phryne's eyes twinkled and he continued. 

“What if there were a sign. Signs are extremely helpful around railway stations. Say, a sign from one person to the other.”

“Signalling...” Phryne bit her lip.

“Signalling.... an invitation. Whoever arrives first can... provide an overture, of sorts.” Jack realized he was gripping his glass the wrong side of too hard, and let it go, letting his hand reach forward nearly to where Phryne's rested on the bar beside her drink. She watched as it came to rest, and kept her eyes down as she slid her own until the fingertips were just touching.

“An overture,” she repeated.

“When the time is right.”

“Either party?” she asked, her fingers now brushing the back of his.

“I think so.”

Phryne nodded, still gazing at their hands. “Jack, I'm not sure when...”

“It doesn't matter.” Jack's eyes stayed on her face as he turned his hand over, so that he was now cradling hers. He traced the back of her hand with his thumb, and even three whiskeys in, didn't think he'd missed the catch in her breath.

“No?”

“No.” 

Phryne looked up and met his eyes, all the while letting her fingers twine with his.

“Alright, Inspector.” She smiled from beneath her lashes. 

“Good.”

“A toast?” Phryne reached her free hand out to pick up her glass, and Jack did the same, keeping their others connected. “To Janey, to bravery, and to... possibilities.”


End file.
